LYNNFIELD

your face is what my heart remembers:

tiny little stretch marks
pleated out the space
for you to live.

i remember your words deliberate,

as if speaking were like
balancing an egg on end.

fingertips bracing the shape of a curve
before letting go...

and hoping for the best.

HOW TO FAKE MYSTERIOUS

then there is the gray to get over.

the sky,
devoid of color
gives back the blue
like a gift it didn't deserve.

i remember the year
i wore my troubles like a hat
and tipped it politely
to young girls i passed,

even though i have since
hung it up and hidden it,

i'm still shy at the faces
who have worn it with me.

the truth is more inviting
when you choose to hold it back,

the way bed ridden bodies
are nothing to get excited by.

we all need a bird on our shoulder
whispering over and over,

"someday, you will die."

THE ABSENCE OF SOUND

there is beauty
lost in the wind

passing through the
leaves of a birch
nonexistent.

eventually,
everything finds a home
in the absence of sound:

a field of crickets
as you walk by, the
settling of dew
frosting over, even the
light from a star
quiets down
finally catching
an eye from travel.

what was once there
is not, though
everyone is the wiser.

on a birch,
places that rattled
just a month ago
packed bags as tight as buds
waiting to be born again.

in the spring
they'll open the door
like on an old t.v. show
in black and white...

the cold takes off
its coat and hat
mentioning

"honey, i'm home"

we can always hear
what is missing,

but only after it's gone.

KEEPING ME IN DEBT

blow on the coals
will you?

before the fire's out...

'cause that's what you
have to do
to keep someone in love around.

and it starts up again
as though it never left.

this is the way
that you keep me in debt:

taking advantage of all i'm not

blowing kisses to who i've been

poking fun at how i fall

only loving the idea of me.

THE TROUBLE IS

then all of a sudden
there was nothing

and peace and quiet
was a song
i couldn't get out of my head,

so i hummed along
all day as i worked

cutting back lilies
and raking up leaves.

part of me
is so lost for words
that i end up talking
incessantly.

the other part
is so sad and lonely
that it refuses
to ever talk again.

we have more in common
than not
and that's what brings
a hand to the side
of our faces...

(embarrassing isn't it?)

to look the other way,
to hide in shame.

we all want to be beautiful
and unique,

the trouble is,

is that we're all the same.

HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY

...people always ask me "how are you doing today?"...i think that from now on i'm going to answer, "sunny side up."

LAST NIGHT'S DREAM

it's the time of year
where sunlight can effect
your posture.

as if standing up straight
got you closer
to those dying drops of day.

it's fun being hungry enough
to chase something warm with a spoon.

i remember the time
i stalked a sycamore,

slowly creeping up
until i could sneak
my hands over its eyes

waiting patiently
to yell playfully

"guess who?"

and i'm honestly not sure if i'm cut out for life,

far too much heartache
when i can't make room
to fall in love with everything.

i remember the time
i tapped atlas on the shoulder,
and gave him a break
from holding up the world.

"it's not so much the weight" he said,
taking a piss and smoking a cigarette

"but the balance is hard for beginners."

i smiled at him shrugging
and fell very fast awake.

YOU

i want to discover
the mysteries of your body
slowly.

the crescent moon scar
of appendicitis, the
birthmark tucked softly
under the weight
of your left breast.

i want to visit
the places that words can't go...

and trace them so gently
with my fingertips,
you start to question

weather you're even being
touched at all.

i want to wash up
on the shores
of a sunday morning pillow
with grace.

so much so,
that i fall instantly back asleep,

knowing that you're beside me.

i remember the year
that changed the history
of my heart,

a kiss that
got me thinking
about the make up
of my lips.

they're all just
thumbtacks mapping

the places
my love has been.

i've known such beautiful women...

but can't seem to find "you" yet.

IT TAKES TWICE TO MAKE TRADITION

...i'm not sure what to say...i mean this curser is going crazy, keeping time with my heart. and i've had friends (and since i don't really have any) i'll say "friends" who have told me that i need to write prose again. but i don't know what to write. the truth is...is that i never have...known what to write that is. i feel okay. for the first time in a long time...i feel okay. i'd love to talk about love but i just don't get it. and i'd love to talk about life but the only trouble is...is that i'm living it. can i say "her" without everyone i've ever loved wondering if it's actually "her"? can i say "love" without speaking of how i've been living without any? i'm lost right now...and that's okay. 'cause i've stopped being afraid. and to tell you the truth...i'm sick of being found. there is a metaphorical easy chair that i'm laid up in every single night. and i talk to everything that I’ve lost...and he tells me things about his friend found. and i believe him somewhat. 'cause i won't ever be all the way here until i'm there. the most significant thing i've done in the past six months is to hold someone's hand. that's okay. because i've never been more than some kid trying to figure out what this world is all about. but just so you know...the world tells me more than that...he says things...like, "that's good, she just grabbed it, your hand that is...that's a good thing." and that makes everything awesome until next week...where who knows..."she" might get sick of me...again. there, i said it..."again".

LET'S GO FOR A DRIVE

then suddenly you realize
that you haven't seen the stars
in weeks, or a sunset
for even longer

and you wonder
how they could possibly
go on without you.

as if they'd cease to exist
if you chose not to notice.

we give ourselves such importance

maybe that's why tears
fall straight down
to water the ego
from the ground on up.

every other creature knows
that the world goes on without it.

that summer's buzz
turns to autumn's hum
slipping into winter's spring.

i take the time
to see such friends
and let them know
that they are beautiful.

I HATE THE WORD "FOREVER"

'cause he's the bastard son
of eternity, and

my mind's not sure
something can last that long,

so i hate it instead...
knowing it'll end in death,
or life, or heartache.

but things can mean
the same thing so differently.

the way that
eternity is somehow longer than forever
or how the universe
is slightly smaller than the cosmos.

it's strange how love is
the very biggest of words, and
how nothing else comes in second.

so i figure this makes love special
and i like her...
she hates forever too.

because love is a song from a hillside
only audible to a field of berries.

...this is been stuck in my head for two days now...fuck! it won't get out...and i wonder if it ever will.

Well, you say that I treat you like a book on a shelf
I don't take you out that often
'Cause I know that I completed you
And that's why you are here
That's the reason you stay here
How awful that must feel
You said you'd be my dream
I could have you every night
And if by morning I'd forgotten you
Well, no big deal, that'd be all right
'Cause you're the re-occuring kind
You are the re-occuring kind
You never really leave my mind
Are you the love of my lifetime
'Cause there's been times I've had my doubts
We were just kids when I first kissed you
In the attic of my parents' house
And I wish we were there now
I took so long to figure out
What this book has been about
Now I write when I'm away
Letters that you'll never read
You said 'Go explore those other women
The geography of their bodies
But there's just one map you'll need
You're a boomerang you'll see
You will return to me
Yeah you will you will you will'
Well, if you don't think this book's all lies
If you don't think my plans would all be ruined
I'll start drinking like the way I drank before
And I just won't have a future anymore

GIVING UP PAINTING

by now i'm all done trying.

even the letters that make up the words
"i just can't take it anymore."

look shy on the page

caught someplace
like a child in a lie
head down, hands behind back,
scuffing the dirt with a shoe.

and everything was easier
when i thought you
might love me.

the workday flew by
with thoughts of a kiss, sushi still

lingered on those flavored lips,
the ones we made
jokes about biting.

but these days
time stand still
and i grow ancient
with every inhale
recollecting an exhale
of soy-sauce.

one foot out the door,
the other afraid of what came of it.

i'm told i take life
too seriously, though
i've often been scorn
for making light of things.

but these are the colors
i’m am made of
(the palette of my personality)

and you were the subject
i loved to paint...

for every tiny brushstroke
a thousand tiny heartbreaks.

WANTING TO FALL

how i envy the trees
right before their leaves
begin to fall.

as if every drop of warmth
were something magnificent,
worth savoring,
something true
and real, and
beautiful.

if you listen close enough
you can hear their necks stretch
and eyes close
as arms reach up
in topiary approval.

how i dream to get lost
in such simplicity
and hold a day
like a gift
a friend had scent
from far off
as of this morning.

i want to lose myself
in an evening.

rest my body
inside my mind
from a life without commitment.

i use to be afraid
of being alone
which would guarantee
ending up that way.

the way that
the fear of heights
is really the fear
of wanting to fall.

but now i invite solitude
in like a guest
and share my bed
with the idea of it being filled.

and wake to the sound of a tree,
gently tapping at my window.

CABIN FEVER

i'd rather be in love
for all the wrong reasons
then be with someone
for all the right ones.

so this is how it goes:

everyone moves out west
only to miss
the changing of the seasons
then come back to visit
to justify their leaving.

complain about the cold
drive too fast
on an old dirt road
as if leaving were
a way to forget where
they came from, and

sunshine were an answer
someone shouted
from the top of a hill
so everyone turned to listen.

i guess i've grown so alone
that the thought of someone
putting up with me
must in turn mean that they're
crazy.

maybe my heart has cabin fever
and chops self esteem like firewood
to keep warm and insecure
close the curtains and lock the doors,

so underused that it refuses to leave
the tiny shelter it crafted for itself.

for one frozen year after another
much colder than the one before.

AND MAYBE I'M SPEAKING OF LOVE WHEN I SAY


it's just not worth it anymore,
healing the sting of loneliness
while filling a space in my bed.

i'd rather be sick instead,
holding onto everything real
with both hands, negating
the realness with the fear
of losing it completely.

and i can't stand
such paradoxes anymore,
submitting to love
while love lets go.

i can't juxtapose
in such ways knowingly,
pretending i don't care
for someone i do, or
pretending to care
for someone i don't.

i'd find a happy medium
if i believed in happiness...

but i let go instead
never feeling so alone.

telling someone to "fuck off"
that i really just want to hold.

in hopes i'd fill the space
where the rest of me grows old...

'cause i've never been
blonde, or dumb, or young

but think too much
on the simplest of things.

i love you,
and always have

and so what if it translates into
"i like your hair."?

NATS

first day of fall
and the nats still hover
in little clumps
above the sidewalk.

i wonder if they
know that they're annoying
flying at head level,

charming in their insecurity,
raised above the divide

like a prayer to the middle
of my life.

most of my time
is spent reflecting
on the past
while never feeling
reminiscent.

it's a gift to go
after tomorrow with
horse blinders on.

so i move through them
without lifting my head.

and smile while they brush pass.

appalled at my ease
in the face of uneasiness

i take the same road home,
i always take the same road home.

PROBLEMS WITH WOMEN

i guess that
i blame it on my mother

my problems with women.

and not that attaining
the unattainable
would fill the spaces

she never loved me in...but
i try anyway, shocked

at being both self aware
and consumed.

acknowledging weakness
like picking a scab in protest,
something that would heal otherwise.

that's why i'll always
test a girl that i want
to be with.

slowing down the car
on an interstate, pulling
over and piling out into

a field worth existing for,
then rolling in the grass infectiously

as if we'd somehow die without it.

and if she doesn't come with
i'll stop calling her.

and if she asks me
"what are you doing?"
i won't talk to her ever again.

standards are made such ways,

and love is a bar
i can't set high enough.

THE MISTAKE

one day the world
tapped me on the shoulder
to tell me that i was a mistake,

like water boiling over
or leaving an iron on.

he said everything was perfect
but he went out to smoke a butt
and came back to find me there.

"sorry if you feel out of place,"
he said, "you can stop trying
to make sense."

man,
i've never felt so relieved
in all my life.

THE LAST GREAT METAPHOR

when the last
great metaphor is all used up,
my heart will make a sound
like the world's largest
match shoved into a dixie cup
full of yerin.